


They'll Always Forget

by Grandma_Wolf



Series: Tumblr Requests [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alpha Kisame, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Geisha, M/M, Omega Itachi, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandma_Wolf/pseuds/Grandma_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain rules and issues that one has to keep in mind. One: Alphas and Omegas shouldn't be left alone together. Two: Unbonded alphas always forget. So there is no reason to expend yourself on being kind or courteous. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	They'll Always Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Another tumblr request (I should really make a series page for these). This one was by DoeEyedSamurai who is here on AO3 as well as on tumblr. They requested a Geisha story but I did some... experimenting with it. Please enjoy and, hey, if you can afford the time, feel free to leave feedback. I love me some feedback, dears. Keeps these old bones young!

_“When I’m older, I’m going to be a mighty warrior! … You can be one too!”_

_“… N-no, I can’t.”_

_“But… why?”_

_A shy smile was painted onto shy, trembling lips._

_“… You’ll understand. When we’re older.”_

_“But why not now?” A young boy with hair like the stormy seas wasn’t willing to take the words of his fair, dark-haired friend without a better explanation. But soon the older boy’s mother came to harshly grab her son away, muttering something about how ‘you shouldn’t be around an submissive without someone else!’._

_It was better this way, Itachi thought at the mere age of seven._

_Kisame would just forget this conversation ever happened._

_Just like all unbonded dominants forgot all sorts of things._

* * *

 

Opening his eyes, twelve years later, Itachi wasn’t sure _why_ that memory had come into his mind. But he did know that he needed to get ready for tonight.

As was tradition for all submissives born under the Uchiha clan, Itachi had been trained in the ways of entertaining dominants through music, conversation, dinner, and dance. The ways of any elegant geisha, fine-tuned to a crystal pedigree.

This would happen until said submissive found their destined dominant as well as said dominant being willing to bond with them.

Itachi walked across the dressing chamber to sit in front of a mirror, a vanity bearing the simple cosmetics that would fulfill his transformation.

Itachi took a deep breath, regarding his countenance in the mirror. He still had a youthful face, a perfect visage of androgyny. His skin was so fair that he only had to add the thinnest layer of the white base cream to give his face and hands the smooth, porcelain finish that his parents toted to others about.

Charcoal eyeliner helped to bring attention to his deep brown eyes and his fine eyebrows.

Next came his lips. Mixing the red with the crystallized sugar to help keep his lips shiny and inviting before delicately painting his lips with the ripe color.

The final step before dressing was putting his hair up in a bun: expertly crafted to resemble a flower bud waiting to be opened and enjoyed.

Itachi looked at his visage before deciding to pull out two fringes to hang on either side of his face.

Good. Now he could get dressed.

* * *

 

The dining hall of the Scarlet Fan Drinking House was full of people rushing around to make sure that decadent foods and spirits were ready to be served to that evening’s guests. The current owner and the resident chief submissive of the establishment (despite having a mate of his own) peeked into the largest entertaining room, wanting to make sure that they were all settled before he started worrying about the center of attention not being there.

“Uncle.”

Madara blinked, turning around to see Itachi dressed in a shimmering kimono _painted_ in blossoms and melting fire. “Lovely as always, dear.”

Itachi didn’t respond. Being lovely didn’t help much when you were lonely with no one save for lecherous strangers to appreciate it.

Madara pursed his lips. His nephew truly needed a mate. But, until then… “Your guest is waiting for you inside. Remember–”

“Coy smiles.” Itachi recited, “Gentle speech. Delicate hands. He’ll forget you as soon as he leaves, so you may as well do a good job.”

Madara nodded, “Good. Now, go on.”

* * *

 

Itachi gently eased the door open and made quick, quiet steps into the room. There were a few submissives in the room tending to certain guests, but Itachi kept his focus on the advent of tending to _one_ guest tonight.

He had been told that they were a warrior: a celebrated general in the Emperor’s army. Easy enough, Itachi had tended to many a warrior during his time here.

Itachi sat down behind the massive _koto_ that had been set up for him. He kept his head bowed as he greeted, “My highest appreciations for sharing in your company tonight. I hope that you find my presence pleasurable.”

Itachi looked up to finally regard his special guest of the evening.

His blood ran cold, a direct contrast to the passionate colors of his kimono and his lips. After all, how often do you come face to face with your childhood love in a place of decadence and pleasure.

Itachi made eye contact with the tall, broad-shouldered dominant: his eyes flicking up to the wild shocks of ocean-blue hair before he forced his gaze back down to the instrument in front of him.

One breath.

Two breaths.

_Play._

* * *

 

His fingers started playing a slow, subtle melody: resembling the first snows of winter, a song of regret and loss. Before the air became too solemn, he picked up the tempo and made it more _romantic_.

He kept himself focused on his melody, focused on how his fingertips plucked at the taught strings. It took everything in him not to trip up when the general rose up and walked over to sit next to him.

The scent of brisk oceans swamped Itachi’s nose, the subtle notes of something underlying and _dominant_ filling his senses.

“You play beautifully.” The general muttered into Itachi’s ear.

Itachi swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat. “Th-thank you, sir.”

The general chuckled, running a slow finger down the creamy column of Itachi’s neck, stopping just when the nape began to melt into the kimono. “You can call me Kisame.”

* * *

 

As the two had gotten older, from children to adolescents, their parents kept them further apart. However, Itachi would often sneak away from his lessons in entertaining to watch the training that Kisame was being put under. Swordplay practice with large, heavy weapons and training in strength to help build the thick, robust muscles that dominants were known for.

Occasionally Kisame would catch Itachi looking. When these chances occurred, the older teen would flush a little and wave: not used to such a pretty submissive’s presence.

Of course, Kisame would never remember these occurrences.

* * *

 

In a private room, Itachi poured out a small cup of sake; offering it to Kisame. “Thank you.” The general took it, drinking leisurely. Itachi sat back and opened a small tome full of haiku he had written during his time here.

Most geisha danced. He read: allowed words and pictures to dance for him.

_“Petal soft kisses_

_We open up like flowers_

_for love’s touch blooming”_

Kisame finished off his drink, his piercing dark eyes focused on Itachi: particularly that pretty red mouth. “Again.” He insisted, Itachi nodding and turning the page.

_“Y-your gentle kisses_

_And other feral blisses_

_Haunt my memory”_

Two more after that one found Itachi in Kisame’s lap, the submissive feeling himself grow flushed and wet from the heat and hardness he could feel beneath him. Kisame rocked up gently, whispering into Itachi’s ear with a warm breath, “Again…”

Itachi struggled to speak, his body trembling from being this close to the general and how he could feel their bodies reacting to one another. He could feel that Kisame had latched onto his scent, one that he was often told was comparable to a mixture of sugar and burning spice. He gulped and recited a poem that he had committed to memory.

_“My love is like the paint brush_  
 _Painting all of my_ longing  
 _Into 'being'”_

* * *

 

Itachi had managed to meet Kisame one last time before the dominant’s family had sent him off to the capital to serve in the emperor’s forces.

“For your trip.” Itachi had offered a box of dango to the dominant who looked at him as if he had never seen him before.

In hindsight, with Itachi bearing the makeup of a maiko and an apprentice’s kimono, he really hadn’t. Kisame took the dango with a smile. “Thank you. I wish that I wasn’t leaving today, it’s odd that I haven’t seen such a beautiful face here in town before now.”

Itachi’s fingers twitched.

Before he could stop himself, he ran forward and pressed himself into Kisame’s arms: forcing their lips together. The sun was just beginning to set and not very many people were out to cry out in scandal.

Kisame tasted like iron.

Itachi tasted like sugar.

Kisame tightened his arm around Itachi’s waist, not wanting him to go anywhere as he deepened their kiss: slipping his tongue in between soft lips and pressing against the gentle muscle that welcomed him. Itachi wanted to stay there, for the embrace to never end. But he knew better. He briskly pulled himself away and, with one last look, he bolted away.

* * *

 

If anyone knew what Itachi was doing, he would be thoroughly disowned and slandered.

But how could he _care_ when Kisame was filling him so wonderfully, tortuously deep? His kimono had been hurled away to some nondescript corner of the room and Itachi was on his stomach, fingers digging into the comforter beneath them.

Every choked gasp, every minute whimper was an order, a plea that Kisame fulfilled dutifully: drawing his hips back until just the head of his thick, turgid heat remained inside of the scalding, sopping wet embrace before slamming back in to the hilt.

The pace was grueling, their meeting point filthy with Itachi’s slick and Kisame’s pre-spending, and the air was thick with their pants and groans.

Itachi adored every second of it. His skin soaked in sweat, his hair falling free from its styling.

This was what he needed, what his portion was supposed to be. To have this every night, some of those nights being filled with multiple couplings in order to get him to conceive… Itachi could hardly bear such decadent thoughts: his eyes blind in passion and his mouth open in want.

There. _There_ , yes! He could feel the general’s knot catching on his rim with more fervent promises of what was to come.

Itachi choked out when he felt sharp teeth clamp down and tear into the side of his neck, the place where omegas bore their mating marks.

Itachi’s body seized, the geisha feeling himself light and free from all of his memories and all of his worries as he felt himself tied: Kisame’s knot lodged inside of him and the general giving shallow thrusts as his thick seed filled the geisha to the brim.

* * *

 

“Itachi.”

Itachi was roused from the bliss of the unconscious world by the general’s, by Kisame’s, voice. The dominant, his flesh now free from Itachi’s heat, cradled Itachi’s face in his hands. “The years treat you so fairly. I greet each year with new scars and you greet them with fresh youth and beauty.”

Itachi could care less for _what_ Kisame was saying, just that he was saying them in such tones.

And he had remembered his _name_. So nice.

Itachi laid back in bed, not wanting Kisame’s seed to escape his bo–

Wait.

No.

No. _No, no, no, no_! NO!

It didn’t take. The mark was fading from his neck; healing. Itachi looked up to see that Kisame had seen what he had realized. The general didn’t panic, he didn’t rage, he didn’t scream. He looked at the fading mark and moved away. Just a few paces.

He didn’t want Itachi to see the trembling of his shoulders, nor did he want the fair geisha to hear his whispered sobs.

“I don’t want to forget… Not again. _Please_ … Not again.”

Itachi fought his body’s exhaustion in order to sit up. He crawled over to Kisame and wrapped his arms around the trembling form. “Shh…” He whispered, still the gentle, quiet geisha despite his makeup and hair being mussed. “Dominants don’t cry. Please, calm yourself. There will be other times and other submissives.”

“Quiet with that!” Kisame hissed, “I don’t _want_ other times _or_ other submissives. I want _you_! I want to keep the memories that I’ve made with _you_!”

And Itachi could hear the pain and impatience in Kisame’s voice.

But there was no use fighting it.

“Please.” He whispered, pulling over the comforter, “Sleep. You have a full day facing you tomorrow morning.”

* * *

 

The following morning _did_ arrive. Kisame was getting ready to leave with his traveling party. Itachi was there at the gate to see them off, a gentle smile on his painted lips.

“Well then,” Kisame began, mounting his horse, “We must be getting to the next town before evening falls. Thank you for your lodging and…” He chuckled, “If you could find the young geisha who tended to me last night and give them my regards. I must have drunken too much last night, I can’t seem… to recall their face.”

“But of course.” Itachi promised. Kisame nodded and shouted out the order for his soldiers to start moving.

Itachi watched after them until the last horse disappeared over the horizon. He turned around to walk back inside, Madara waiting for him. “Itachi, you can’t let this–”

Itachi ignored him, walking up the stairs to the floor where his room resided.

* * *

 

Itachi walked into his quarters and closed the door behind himself. He sat at his vanity and regarded himself in the mirror. He wiped the makeup from half of his face, staring at himself for a moment.

He hiccuped, his body shaking while fat tears rolled down his cheeks and hit against the vanity’s polished surface.

He rested his face against his arms on the vanity and let his tears consume him.

Unbonded dominants always forgot. No matter how much you loved them. No matter how beautiful the geisha who gave everything of themselves was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so... Omegaverse, as protrayed in most fandoms, kind of squicks me. So I've been working at tweaking here and there to make it fit me better. 
> 
> In this off-shoot I decided to try and even things out: Omegas may be 'weaker' and lose control during their heats, but Alphas have to rely on a bonded Omega's presence in order to keep 75% of their memories intact. 
> 
> Kind of evening the playing field. 
> 
> Remember, I welcome feedback and I'm always over at tumblr available to talk~!
> 
> \- Grandma-Wolf


End file.
